


The Way I Have Forgotten Back

by whatimages



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatimages/pseuds/whatimages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She didn’t say 'saving me,' though the memory of his kiss lingered on her mouth. It was full of promises neither of them knew how to name, much less how to keep." After her awakening, Snow and James have to negotiate their situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way I Have Forgotten Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunarknightz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarknightz/gifts).



> With many thanks to L and C!

On a trail in the middle of the forest in the dead of winter, Snow White perched unsteadily atop James’ horse. She huddled into his coat in the hopes it might warm the bone-deep chill that still clung to her. Her seat was unsteady--his was a hunting saddle and ill-suited to a sidemount, and it had been quite some time since Snow had sat aside a horse at all. James kept her steady, his arms around her as polite and impersonal as it was possible to be. They couldn’t help but press close together in the saddle; Snow held herself very upright, her back aching, as if there was something at stake in it.

The path through the forest was faint, trodden only by those who already knew where it was. It led to James’ family’s hunting lodge--it was out of the way, he said, and in any case not even the queen would dare to trespass on another monarch’s private lands. Snow wasn’t so sure; the queen would know her curse had been broken and she would not rest--she had proven that already. Snow could tell by James’ determination and the set of his shoulders that he sought to shelter her, but she was beginning to suspect this was little more than a brief respite. Now that the joy at her awakening had burned off, Snow shivered in the cold and intractable reality of her situation.

James noticed; she saw him frown out of the corner of her eye. He settled his arms a little tighter around her, warming her as best he could with his body. Her white dress was fine for the inside of a coffin, but the thin silk provided little warmth against the chill of the forest in winter and she was glad of his warmth. She realized with a sudden shock that when she inhaled she could smell him, a soap and salt smell that seemed like it should be familiar. Blushing hotly, she turned away as best she could, gaze fixed between the horse’s ears. But her skin prickled and sang where she touched him, even through the layers of their clothing. Every sway of the horse’s shoulders made their bodies press together in a rhythm with shades of the obscene.

“This isn’t wise,” said Snow, as much to herself as to him.

“What?” If he sounded startled or a little guilty, she put it down to the sudden break in the silence.

“Sheltering me.” She didn’t say _saving me_ , though the memory of his kiss lingered on her mouth. It was full of promises neither of them knew how to name, much less how to keep. “The queen could see it as an act of war.” Snow swallowed around the sudden bubble of anxiety in her throat. “At the very least it will severely damage your diplomatic relationship.”

“And I doubt your wife will appreciate it much either,” she added, almost as an afterthought; her voice didn’t waver.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wince. “Well, I could hardly abandon you.” He seemed to think the reasoning sufficient: for a long moment he said nothing, and Snow wondered if he had actually failed to consider these things before whisking her up on top of his horse; she bit back a diatribe about the welfare of his people and the duties of marriage.

At last, he said very quietly: “And I don’t have a wife.”

A vast, ridiculous hope rose in Snow like panic: overwhelming and totally unexpected. “ _What?_ ” she said, twisting as best she could to look at him.

“That’s not the half of it,” muttered James guiltily.

Snow opened her mouth to interrogate him, but he was saved by a sudden turn in the path that brought them to a heavy wrought iron gate. The manor was modestly sized by royal standards, though through the gaps in the fence Snow could see the glitter of glass windows.

“We’re here,” said James, dismounting to hammer on the gate. The sudden absence at her back left her cold.

James knocked again, but the house remained still and silent. He peered through the ironwork impatiently. “Has the place been abandoned? I thought there were servants here--”

Snow craned her neck to get a better look at the house through the fence. The top two floors sparkled with vast windows, and a terrace outlined the flat roof. The sandy gold stone looked dull against the grey forest, but even in a midwinter evening the colour spoke of sunlight.

“Are you sure this is the hunting lodge? It looks like a summer house.”

James blinked at her perplexedly; by strength of will, she managed not to laugh at him. “I bet the staff just wasn’t expecting anyone for another few months and they’re scrambling.”

“Yes. Right.”

Snow’s theory was borne out by the appearance of an elderly gentlemen in a liveried overcoat from around the back of the manor. He bowed low upon reaching the gate.

“My apologies, Prince James.” he said. “My son, the groundskeeper, is visiting his wife’s family and neglected to mention where he kept the gate key before he left. Please forgive the state of affairs; your message did not arrive and so we are woefully unprepared.”

He managed to get the lock open with some difficulty; the hinges screamed in protest as the gate swung open.

“There wasn’t a message,” said James with some chagrin. He led his horse by the bridle up the broad walkway to the manor; the gentleman--a butler, thought Snow, judging by his livery--fell easily into a stride a half step behind James.

“I apologize for startling you like this. The need was pressing.”

The butler frowned, a sudden worry creasing his face. “Has something happened, my lord? Should I send word to his Highness?”

James shook his head firmly. “No. Everything is all right; there’s no need to trouble the court.” At nearly the foot of the main stairs they halted; James helped her down from her seat, his hands settling briefly at her waist to steady her, then retreating just as quickly.

The butler’s gaze flickered over her in impassive appraisal; Snow was suddenly very aware of what an odd sight she was; but in the manner of old family retainers he took in much and none of it showed on his face. Snow flushed bright red to her ears at what it must look like, and reflexively she moved a little away from James.

The butler led them up the broad front stair, apologizing all the way. “I’m afraid only some of the south wing and the servants’ quarters are open. We can open your apartments, but it may take some time. “

“The south wing is fine,” said James absently. “We won’t be troubling you for long anyway. If you can just make up two rooms and bring food and a hot bath for the lady, that will be fine.”

Snow exhaled in relief. A knot of nervousness in her belly that she had not realized was there eased a little; she firmly swallowed down a twinge of disappointment. The absence of a single obligation to another woman did not erase a hundred other ones; she had lived in the woods for a long time, but Snow was a princess and she understood a little of duty. The shelter of a single night’s kindness would be enough; she told herself it would be enough.

*

The bath, Snow thought, was possibly the most glorious thing she had ever experienced in her life. For too long she had bathed perfunctorily, reliant on the kindness of the weather to keep from freezing to death in streams and ponds. The hot water scalded the last of the enchanted stiffness out of her limbs. She even went so far as to get the tub refilled twice--it was a ridiculous luxury in winter, but by the time the bath cooled for the third time Snow felt fully human for what seemed like the first time in months.

A knock on the door announced the maidservant, a rosy-cheeked, broad-hipped girl named Brighid. She had the same politely impassive gaze as the butler, but her smile was kind.

Brighid set a towel and a bundle of clothes on the spindleback chair. “My lord says I was to give you these, with his apologies,” she said, holding up a pair of trousers. Snow suspected by the quirk of Brighid’s mouth that under her veneer she was faintly scandalized.

“I’m afraid we’ve got none of the queen’s old gowns about, but if you prefer I might be able to find a lady’s maid’s dress as might fit you--though it’s hardly as fine as your own,” she said with a gesture towards Snow’s discarded white silk.

Snow shook her head. “Please don’t trouble yourself. You did enough with hauling all that water. Thank you.”

“No trouble at all, my lady,” said Brighid--though her smile suggested she appreciated that Snow had noticed. ”I don’t think I’ve seen anyone appreciate a bath so much,” she added candidly.

Snow smiled a little ruefully at that and reached for the towel. “I don’t think anyone ever has,” she admitted. Brighid went to hand the towel to her, but Snow got hold of it first. Brighid’s hands fluttered awkwardly, arrested mid-motion.

“Will you be needing help with dressing or with your hair?” she asked, helping Snow out of the tub.

Snow shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you though. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Brighid nodded deferentially. “Very well, my lady.” She turned to go, but paused in the doorway and turned back to Snow. “If I may--for all your fine clothes, you looked very much in need of a piece of kindness when you came here. If there’s anything else--” she trailed off.

Snow paused, weighing the words behind the words. “I was indeed. Very much so.” _More than you know,_ the added to herself. “Between you and the Prince I have a surfeit of kindness.”

Reassured, Brighid nodded and dropped a shallow curtsy. “I’m glad to hear it. Dinner should be ready in half an hour.” And with that Brighid left, shutting the door behind her noiselessly.

Snow towelled off vigorously; the air was cooler than the water, but warm enough from the fire in the hearth that she did not need to leap immediately into her clothes. She stood naked in the centre of the room for a moment, soaking in the novelty of what had once been unthinkably familiar.

She stroked the fine silk of her dress where she had cast it carelessly over the bed. It was more appropriate to the setting than the boy’s clothes. Certainly it made sense that Brighid should say “my lady,” to a woman in a white silk gown. But when Snow held it up to herself she shuddered at the touch of the cool fabric to her skin; she knew with a certainty she would no sooner go back to her glass coffin than wear it again.

Her skin cooling, Snow dressed quickly. The clothes were a little too big and smelled faintly of moth balls, but they were clean and warm. She flung the dress over the chair back; perhaps she would leave it as a gift for Brighid, as a thank you. But then, leaving a dead woman’s dress to the living seemed little enough like kindness.

In the mirror, Snow readjusted her clothes.. Her own clear image seemed strange to her; with a shock she realized that that was what she looked like now, and wondered when exactly she had become so thin and pinched looking. She had been harrowed by the bitter months in the woods; it was written as clearly on her face as it was on her heart. Snow tugged her doublet straight with steady hands and met her own gaze with a raised chin and defiant eyes.

*

She had intended to pass dinner mildly--to let his interest bounce off the bland wall of her silence; to ask only for a few days’ provisions and perhaps a horse. She had intended to slip out of the creeping bonds of affection before they could root her in place.

But James leaned in close to her to speak; his voice curled around her like the smoke from the hearth. They spoke of nothing in particular, but the conversation rose and fell easily with the rhythm of her breath. When a smile welled up in her, she found it reflected in his face.

Snow glanced away, and thought firmly of necessity. More or less by accident, her gaze alighted on his hands curled loosely on the table--there was no telltale glint of gold anywhere. His hands were bare, absent even of a signet ring. Snow glanced away quickly, brow furrowed, but it was too late: James had seen her.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet,” he said with a rueful smile.

Snow did her best to shrug nonchalantly. “It’s your business. It seemed rude to press you after you so kindly offered me shelter.”

James frowned, brow furrowing in a way that was quickly becoming familiar to her. “Well. When you put it that way,” he said, sounding stung.

“It’s for the best.” The words came out in a rush of honesty before she could dam them up. But they were true--true enough to keep the real cracks hidden. James flinched; it occurred distantly to Snow that he was far too open with his emotions to succeed at politics.

His hands on the table curled into fists and his frown deepened. “It wasn’t because of you,” he said sharply. “I knew my duty and I didn’t shirk it. Whatever you think, don’t think that.” He paused; words passed obscurely across his face, but he didn’t say them. “Abigail had a lover at home; she was heartsick at the prospect of marrying me. She fell ill of it; her fairy godmother was the one who suggested she be returned home.”

Snow nodded, face carefully impassive. “That must have come as some relief--to both of you, apparently.”

“You have no idea,” admitted James. “Can’t say the same for our fathers though.They seemed to think it was better for everyone involved if Abigail was to waste away.” He made a disgusted face. “At least royals are equally free with the lives of their own children as they are with other people’s,” he said darkly.

There was little Snow could say to that--and when it came down to it, he was right. Impulsively, she reached out and covered his larger hand with her smaller one. It was a mistake, but she could not regret the soft smile he graced her with.

He flipped his hand so his palm kissed hers; the touch sent a tremor up her arm to her heart. “I suppose it worked out for the best,” he murmured.

Snow withdrew her hand as gracefully as she could. “I’m glad for you, truly.”

James leaned in closer to her, as if drawn; his face was full of a dangerous softness and a edge of determination: he was preparing to say something that could not be unsaid. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snow stopped him cold with a raised hand.

“Please forgive me--I am weary and must retire.” She rose unhurriedly despite the nearly overwhelming desire to bolt from the room, and made him an ironic little bow.

Startled, James blinked up at her. “As you wish,” he said. “Goodnight, Snow.”

“Goodnight, James,”

As she left, she felt the weight of his gaze on her back; but he held his silence and let her go.

*

Sleep would not come. Perhaps it was the long enchanted stillness that made her body restless. But more likely it was her mind: try as she might, Snow could not put aside her thoughts: they tore at her, and the one with the sharpest teeth was longing.

Every creak and whine of the house was the approach of soldiers, and every brush of the sheets against her skin was the touch of his hands.

Somewhere between the tenth and the fifteenth time she rolled over, a solution occurred to her like a sudden break of light. It was a poor repayment to hospitality, but the luxury of choice had not been hers for a very long time.

Snow rose and dressed quickly in her boy’s clothes; over top of her doublet and trousers she pulled the heavy cloak that had been left for her against the house’s chill. On silent, practiced feet she crept through the manor and out into the courtyard, her way lit by a single candle. The cold air bit at her exposed skin, but she had neither the time nor the resolve to turn back to find gloves. She would simply have to survive.

The stables were unguarded and unlocked; the few horses still in residence stirred sleepily at her entrance, but they stayed mercifully quiet. Snow surveyed them quickly--they were mostly stocky ponies; while their hardy natures would prove useful, there was no telling who they belonged to, and stealing a servant’s mount was just cruel.

At the back of the stable was a corner stall dimly outlined by a coal brazier that warmed the stable. James’ horse would be there; Snow made for the stall without giving herself time to reconsider.

As she turned the corner, Snow pulled up short. In the stall, illuminated only by the dim glow of the brazier was James, brushing his horse with a look of great concentration. She was about to turn away, but his horse whickered at her and he jerked up suddenly at the noise.

“Snow,” said James. “It’s late. What are you doing here?” He came around the horse to lean against the door of the stall with affected nonchalance.

“Ah,” said Snow. She searched frantically for some kind of reasonable answer, but none came. “This doesn’t look good, does it?”

James eyed her critically. “If by that you mean it looks like you’re trying to steal my horse and run away in the middle of the night, then no, it doesn’t.” The dim light from the brazier cast him in heavy shadows, but his voice sounded a little sad.

Snow gestured helplessly. “What would you have me do? I’m a wanted woman, and you clearly have no head for diplomacy. It’s for the best. I’ll return the horse, I promise.”

James smiled ruefully. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

Snow glared at him, defiant “I’m still alive, so no.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Just stay tonight.” It sounded a little like a plea. “Just this one night. It’s foolish to go running off into the middle of winter. You can leave in the morning, if you must.”

The concern in his voice wore at her nerves, raw already from the persistence of images she would rather forget. “And why in seven hells should you care?” she snapped.

He looked like she’d struck him. “But I do,” he said very quietly, as if it was reason enough. Maybe it was.

Something twisted wretchedly in her chest. “I live a dangerous life, James. One day I’m going to regain my throne, but for right now I need to survive.”

James leaned in closer to her, filling up the gap between them with his earnestness. “Did it ever occur to you that you don’t have to do it alone?”

Snow wanted to say _Of course I have_ because she had, and had summarily dismissed the idea--but she suspected that was not quite what he meant.

Instead, she said, “You have a duty, the same as I do. It’s irresponsible for you to become involved in my affairs.” The words fell flat on the cold stone floor.

James looked suddenly shamed; he glanced away and fiddled with his horse comb.

“It’s not--it’s not quite what you think,” he said slowly. He could not meet her eyes. “What duty I have was thrust unexpectedly upon me, and it will soon be taken away again.” James paused and took a deep breath. When he next spoke, he looked her full in the face.

“Just like you’re not a traitor, I’m not a prince.”

Everything tilted wildly. “ _What?_ ” It was the most eloquent response Snow could muster.

Quickly, James sketched the outline of his parents’ bargain. A thread of bitter sadness laced his words, and Snow’s heart went out to him even as she listened in amazement.

When he was done, she stood in silence for a moment. “Is your name even really James?” She hated how betrayed she sounded.

“Yes. Rumplestiltskin has an odd sense of humour,” he said wryly. “I wanted to tell you--I tried earlier, but you left.”

“A mistake, it seems.”

“As this one would be too.” James reached down to take her hand. “Everything else was true, Snow,” he said softly.

She searched his face in the high shadows, and it seemed like she saw him--really saw him--for the first time. An enchantment had been lifted, and he was before her whole and entire at last.

“I believe you.” It was a simple enough thing to say, but the phrase was heavy with meaning on her tongue.

“Soon I’ll be little better off than you. The king will expose and disinherit me now that the engagement is broken. “ He squeezed her hand hard. “But I want to help you, Snow. What little I have is yours, if you want it.”

Her breath caught at the naked devotion in him. “It will be dangerous, James. Perhaps more than you understand. There is no guarantee we will succeed.”

He nodded firmly, gaze sharp and unwavering on her face. “I know. But I would follow you, if you will have me.”

Snow paused for the space of a long breath. It was rich with possible futures, and for the first time in a very long time Snow tasted a choice that lacked the bitter edge of necessity. He was like a door flung open to a room she had long kept shut, and she knew what to do.

“Give me your sword,” she said. James’ face held his question, but he drew it and offered it to her over his arm without hesitation.

“Kneel.” Comprehension dawning, he dropped to one knee before her, head bowed.

“I may be dispossessed, but I am still a princess,” she muttered.

In halting, unfamiliar words, James pledged her fealty; in a stronger voice he vowed the protection and service of her person and her honour for all of his days, his eyes bright as he gazed up at her. In clear, ringing tones Snow accepted his pledge; she hoped with everything in her that she would live up to the open trust in his face.

Snow struck him the blow between the shoulders, and he did not flinch. “Rise, Sir James,” she said. He got to his feet and accepted his sword back from her with reverent hands.

They stood in silence for the space of a few heartbeats, letting the new reality cohere around them.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

In answer, James raised her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss over the backs of her fingers. She had received the gesture many times before, but never before had it made her mouth suddenly dry and her pulse thready.

James laced his fingers through hers. “I believe it is traditional for the monarch to bestow a kiss of blessing on the new knight,” he said, eyes dropping shyly to her mouth.

Snow bit her lip. “You are correct in that.”

James leaned down, but she pressed the kiss to his forehead. He chuckled, a low rich sound that warmed her. “Consider yourself blessed,” she said.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I do.” The word ghosted over her upturned face like the first breath of spring, bright with promise.

Snow made her answer: she drew him down and kissed him, as if for the first time.


End file.
